


Bruises (or destroy dream monsters, go to church, and kiss Adam Parrish)

by yukiawison



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam is stubborn and cute, First Kiss, M/M, References to Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5086354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukiawison/pseuds/yukiawison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in the early days, when punching a wall or a face or a mirror was easier than talking or sleeping, Gansey would leave boxes of band-aids on the counter. Ronan returned the favor with a bag of cough drops when Gansey got strep throat. A tube of Neosporin, a package of gauze, and an extra epi-pen rounded out the ensemble. This was the first time they'd used the supplies for Adam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises (or destroy dream monsters, go to church, and kiss Adam Parrish)

"Have you seen Adam?" Gansey asked, slapping his journal down on the desk beside Ronan. "He missed AP Euro."  
  
"So? He's probably sick," Ronan replied. Adam Parrish had looked particularly haggard yesterday, not that Ronan Lynch spent an undue amount of time looking at him.  
  
"We had a test," Gansey said gravely. "He wouldn't miss a test."  
  
Other students were beginning to file in, but no Adam.  
  
"Has he been worrying you too?" Gansey continued. "He never lets me drive him home. And he comes in early to type his papers. Like maybe he doesn't have a computer? And...well I'm sure you've noticed." Gansey looked at him nervously, expectantly.  
  
Ronan knew what he was talking about. Adam's clothes often looked a little rumpled, and his shoes were always scuffed. And he'd show up to school smelling like an ash tray, with concealer smudged on his delicate cheekbones and a slight limp he tried to hide as hard as his accent.  
  
Adam had never talked about his home life, or origins, but it could be assumed that he didn't have a senator for a mother, or a trust fund to dip into.  
  
"I'll look around for him," Ronan said softly, scooping up his backpack.  
  
"No Ronan you can't skip again it's..."  
  
"Fuck that Gansey, I've got an A in Latin and Parrish is MIA," he ducked back out into the hallway before the bell rang, leaving Gansey alone in the buzzing room.  
  
He was headed for the back door, across from where he'd parked, when he heard it.  
  
Sniffling, a partly choked back sob, there was someone crying in the boys bathroom.  
  
He walked in slowly, so he wouldn't hear him. But he did, and there was a rustling as he made for the nearest stall.  
  
Ronan could see Adam's worn shoes on the tile, his frayed pant legs twitching. Ronan's fists clenched. Whoever or whatever had made Adam Parrish cry was going to damn well pay.  
  
"Parrish," he said hesitantly. "It's me."  
  
The stall stayed quiet. "Adam I know it's you. You can't hide in the fucking stall forever."  
  
"Who says I can't?" Came the muffled reply. He sniffled. "Leave me alone Ronan."  
  
"Gansey's worried. You missed a test first period?"  
  
"Couldn't help it," he hiccuped. His voice echoed.  
  
Ronan stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself, he looked softer, it seemed than he usually did: more like himself. Maybe, he thought fleetingly, that was Adam's doing.  
  
"Let me see," Ronan said. "Let me see what happened."  
  
The door creaked open, and Ronan wasn't prepared for what he saw. Adam attempted to appear composed, dignified if you could call someone that bruised and bloodied dignified. His right eye was swollen shut in an ugly purply red. His lip was busted, bleeding profusely down his chin. His whole face was tearstained and exhausted.  
  
"Fuck Parrish you look..."  
  
"Like shit, I know," he pulled the concealer from his pocket. "I was trying to fix it enough to go to class but..." His shoulders tensed. "You should go Ronan."  
  
"No Adam you can't come to class like this. I bet you can hardly see right? And your lip's bleeding all over the place."  
  
"I'll be fine," he choked.  
  
"You know what Gansey'd say?" Ronan was trying to keep the worry out of his voice, though his heart was pounding furiously.  
  
"What?  
  
"That I should take you to Monmouth, and fix you up. You can't go to class."  It was easier, Ronan thought, to pin affection on Gansey.  
  
"But..."  
  
"I'll ask Gansey to get you the notes. It's not up for discussion Parrish," he pulled a paper towel from the roll and turned on the faucet. "Here, I'll get some of the blood off of you and then we'll go."  
  
With trembling hands, he dabbed at the blood on Adam's lip. Adam braced himself against the sink, and closed his eyes.  
  
"Ronan quit it. I can take care of myself," he muttered. His eyes were still closed, lashes resting gently on his damp cheeks.  
  
"Like hell you can," Ronan stuttered, realizing that Adam was so close. He dwelled a bit too long in the sensation, and Adam opened his eyes.  
  
"I'm usually better," he said softly. "At hiding. You won't tell Gansey?"  
  
"I won't," he growled, broken from the trance. The towel was bloody now, and Parrish's face was mostly clean.  
  
They drove to Monmouth in relative silence. Adam turned away, looking out the window and leaning heavily on the BMW's door.  
  
"Put some ice on your eye," Ronan rummaged in the freezer and found him an ice pack. He tossed it to Adam, slumped on the couch. "I'll get the first aid kit."  
  
"Gansey's got a first aid kit?"  
  
"Gansey lives with me." Ronan pushed aside a box of trash bags and a stray sponge.  
  
Back in the early days, when punching a wall or a face or a mirror was easier than talking or sleeping, Gansey would leave boxes of band-aids on the counter. Ronan returned the favor with a bag of cough drops when Gansey got strep throat. A tube of Neosporin, a package of gauze, and an extra epi-pen rounded out the ensemble. This was the first time they'd used the supplies for Adam.  
  
He was just opening the box when his phone started to buzz.  
  
"Ronan, thank God. Did you find him?" Gansey's voice was sharp with fear. "He hasn't turned up at school and he never gave me his address so I don't know how we'd find..."  
  
"I found him. We're at Monmouth."  
  
"Is he okay? Is he hurt? Where did you find him?" He asked frantically.  
  
"Chill the fuck out. He's a little beat up but he's fine," Ronan, true to his word, didn't say anything about the sobbing. In truth Gansey was likely sprint out of class if he heard.  "Get his notes okay? I'm taking care of him so quit worrying."  
  
"Okay...okay. What do you think happened? Did some asshole pick a fight? Kavinsky and his goons?"  
  
"I don't know," Ronan sighed. "But I've gotta go."  
  
Ronan handed Adam an aspirin, glass of water, and the kit. He looked up at him, slightly stunned look in his eye. "Why are you helping...?"  
  
"I'm going to get you some clean clothes," he cut in. He didn't feel like thinking about that question.  
  
Ronan threw him one of his tank tops and some sweatpants. Adam didn't realize at first, and pulled off his Aglionby sweater and button down without protest. He was thinner than Ronan had thought he'd be, bony arms and ribs protruding when he stretched. He was also a hell of a lot more bruised than he'd expected. Some yellowing like old scars, others fresh with ugly seams.  
  
Adam saw him watching, and flushed, he reached for the shirt and realized, in a moment of betrayal, that it was a tank top. He glared at him, and Ronan gritted his teeth. He pulled on the shirt, leaving his bruised, scarred arms exposed. It was cruel, but he had to know.  
  
 Wordlessly, Ronan opened up the kit and pulled out some cotton swabs and disinfectant. He worked at Adam's cuts gently, stopping when he cringed, and waiting until he got a nod before continuing.  
  
"It's your dad isn't it?" he said, through gritted teeth. Adam's eyebrows furrowed together, his eyes were watery. "That's fucked up you know?"  
  
"Leave me alone," Adam spat. "You don't know shit about me."  
  
Something felt hot in Ronan's chest, like anger, but stronger.  
  
"I know you're ashamed," Ronan said. _You shouldn't be_ , he thought. "I know you won't let Gansey take you home because you don't want him to know where you live."  
  
He cleaned a particularly nasty cut under Adam's eye. It was jagged, and crusted with dried blood. "What was this one?" He asked, voice tight. "A bottle? Did you get all the glass out at least?"  
  
Adam nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. "I used tweezers."  
  
What compelled someone to throw a glass bottle at their kid? Ronan hoped it was an accident, he imagined the spray of glass, beer bottle colliding with pavement or tile, its sharp fragments striking like insults, rash and misdirected.  
  
"It was bad this time, whatever he did to you. Usually you're pretty handy with the makeup," he put a band-aid over the glass cut, mostly so he didn't have to look at it anymore. "Of course that shit's cheap so you can tell it's there."  
  
Adam shrugged. "Sue me Covergirl," he smirked. Even cut up and bruised he could deliver a comeback.  
  
Adam's cuts had all been bandaged, but Ronan put a washcloth between his eyebrows and smoothed the crease that had formed there. Ronan felt something on the tip of his tongue. "I know you don't deserve it too," he said.  
  
"Sure I don't," Adam laughed. The sound was cold and seemed profoundly wrong coming out of him. Ronan tensed, the image of the tire iron and the blood flashing in his brain.  
  
Adam noticed his discomfort, and looked down. "Look, I don't want to talk about this. Not with you, not with anyone," he said tersely. "Will you hand me the gauze? My lip's bleeding again."  
  
Ronan did and watched Adam's lips, swollen and damp with blood. Adam's lips that for some reason made his pulse race.  
  
"You know what Gansey would say?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "What?"  
  
"That you should stay here. We have the space and..."  
  
"I'm not taking your charity Ronan."  
  
"It's not charity, it's keeping you from getting fucking killed."  
  
"Ronan," Adam's voice broke, the gauze was still dangling from his split lip. "I can't, not when I'm this close."  
  
Ronan didn't get it, but the defeated look on his face ended the conversation. "Gansey won't be home for a couple of hours. So sleep here until then?"  
  
Adam looked at him skeptically. "Please," Ronan added.  
  
He sighed, and the gauze bobbed on his lips.  
  
"That a yes Parrish?"  
  
"Wake me up before he gets here."  
  
Adam was even prettier when he was sleeping, unfortunately. He was out in two minutes flat, so Ronan pulled a beer out of the fridge and called Gansey.  
  
"Adam's sleeping on the couch. He told me to wake him up before you got home."  
  
"But you're not going to do that," Gansey said critically. Ronan could hear his irritation.  
  
"No, he needs to sleep and I'm not taking his ass home yet. Come in quietly alright?"  
  
"Sure, and thanks."  
  
"For what?" Ronan took another swig of his beer and leaned his elbows on the counter.  
  
"For helping him."  
  
_Why wouldn't I help him? I'd help him all the time if he'd let me._  
  
"Whatever."  
  
He hung up. Adam was snoring softly. He walked over to the couch and tossed a blanket over him.  
  
"My god what happened to his face?" Gansey spoke in a harsh whisper. He'd come in quietly as promised, but got very red in the face when he saw the state of Adam's.  
  
"His father, I think," Ronan muttered.  
  
"His dad did that to him?" Gansey had put on his glasses, and his eyes widened behind them. He tapped his fingers on the counter, a nervous tick that happened when he thought too much or too hard or too long. "We've got to get him out of that house!" His voice rose menacingly.  
  
"Trailer actually," Adam sounded groggy, his messy hair popped up from the couch and he turned to look at them. "What did I say Ronan?"  
  
"Adam you can't stay there," Gansey broke in before Ronan could respond. "We're got to call the police," he said authoritatively, but Ronan had a feeling Adam wouldn't back down as usual.  
  
"If you call the police he'll hit me harder," he stood up wearily and trudged over to the counter. His eye was still pretty swollen, but Ronan was glad all the cuts were covered and hidden from Gansey's view. "He'll go to jail, and my mom and I will lose the trailer."  
  
Gansey winced. "Come live with us then, where you'll be safe."  
  
He ran his hand through his hair, mussing it further, and yawned. "You know I can't do that Gansey. You can't own me."  
  
"I won't! I don't understand why you never let me help you," Gansey's voice broke and he looked down hopelessly.  
  
The air was heavy, nearly suffocating in its tension. Gansey cared so much, and Adam wasn't letting him.  
  
"Stay the night," Ronan said at last. "You need some space."  
  
Gansey looked at him like he had two heads. Ronan wasn't usually (ever) the most level headed, rationally thinking person in the room.  
  
"Fine," Adam sighed. "I can do that."  
  
They didn't have much luck getting Adam to spend the night after that first time. And then they did get him out of there; Ronan's knuckles still burned when he thought about Robert Parrish's blood on them.  
  
And then there was Blue, with her sharp tongue and small compact frame. He saw the way he looked at her, and his smile when she held his hand. He was jealous (of course he was jealous) but Blue made Adam happy, and so he would get over it.  
  
But things faded with them, and Ronan could hear Gansey's late night calls, and see how her eyes followed him.  
  
Sometimes when they were at Nino's, and Adam was talking about tarot cards with Blue or history homework with Gansey, he'd roll up his sleeves. He still had scars, crisscrossing his arms in a map of his painful past. He usually hid them, in long sleeves or crossed arms.  
  
Ronan often got the urge to reach out and touch those scars, trace the lines down his arm, brush his fingertips across his knuckles, rest his hand in Adam's. But he didn't, he couldn't.

  
***

  
There was a knock on Adam's door. It was pouring and past midnight, so it could be only one of two people (and Gansey was probably with Blue.) He threw his pencil down and pushed away from his calculus book.  
  
"Hey Parrish, can I come in?"  
  
Ronan was drenched and panting, a bruise blossomed on his temple.  
  
"Sure, yeah of course, let me get you something dry to wear."  
  
"You still studying?" Adam rummaged in his drawers for a clean shirt.  
  
"Yeah, what're you doing here?" He handed him a t-shirt and pajama pants.  
  
"Couldn't sleep, wanted to see you."  
  
The first statement made sense, the second was surprising. Why did Ronan want to see Adam Parrish, trailer trash TM in the middle of the night.  
  
Ronan had put on the dry clothes and taken a seat on his bed. Now he was looking around St. Agnes. The furnishings were sparse and Adam's desk looked more oft used than his bed. Adam was going to get back to his calc homework when he realized Ronan's bruise hadn't been addressed.  
  
"What did you do to your head?" He sat down across from him and inspected the bruise.  
  
"Hit my head on the sink," he said. "I was a little drunk." Adam could see from the accompanying cuts that it was more likely one of his night terrors had put up a fight, but Adam didn't persist.  
  
"Looks pretty bad," he touched the bruise gently, fingertips ghosting over purple flesh. Ronan's eyes were on him, he could feel them.  
  
He was going to get up, he swore, but something took hold of him and he leaned in, pressing his lips to Ronan's temple. Ronan flushed and started to say something when Adam felt himself kiss his cheek, and then jaw, and neck, and finally his lips.  
  
It felt like Cabeswater, the first time. All the power and confusion, and lightheaded giddiness filled him up. He didn't know why, he hadn't planned on kissing Ronan Lynch. In truth he didn't realize it was something he wanted to do.  
  
Ronan was too stunned to react until Adam's tongue was in his mouth, and then Ronan's hands were in his hair and he broke away to kiss Adam's neck and collarbone until Adam guided him back up to his lips.  
  
And their teeth clashed an noses bumped, and Ronan pulled away breathless and laughing, and Adam was red and could hear his heartbeat.  
  
"You kissed me," he breathed. "No, fuck Adam, you made out with me? Why the hell would you do that?"  
  
"Why'd you kiss me back huh?" He shot back nervously. "Do you like me Lynch?"  
  
He shook his head in disbelief. "Of course I like you. I thought you liked Blue...or girls in general."  
  
"I like you."  
  
Ronan grinned, eyes brighter than he'd ever seen them.  
  
"You're fucking metal Adam Parrish."  
  
"What do you mean?" He frowned.  
  
"I mean I've been meaning to kiss you for months and you just went ahead and did it."  
  
Adam laughed. Meaning to, like it had been an item on an endless to do list: destroy dream monsters, go to church, kiss Adam Parrish.  
  
Adam kissed him again, to save him the trouble. "I didn't know I wanted to until I did." It felt powerful, like a blow but safer. It was fire, but not to destroy, to create.  
  
It was only later, when Ronan's chest was pressed to his back, breathing soft and slow in sleep, that he left himself think it: this was right. Ronan Lynch, in all his screeching tires, loud music, and burning glares was a human band-aid.


End file.
